Delayed Delivery
by AZGirl
Summary: When he saw who the letter was directed to, he nearly dropped it. There was only one person who could've written those words. Entry for the Fête des Mousquetaires.
**Disclaimer** : The Musketeers are not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

 **Spoilers** : None.

 **A/N** : Was suddenly inspired by this month's challenge; I hope you enjoy the result.

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"To send a letter is a good way to go someplace without moving anything but your heart." ~~Phyllis Theroux.

 **ooooooo**

D'Artagnan stared at the sealed letter in his hands. Another, opened letter lay on the bench beside him. On this day, the garrison was mostly deserted with a good majority of the Musketeers out protecting the King while he was hunting in the forests surrounding Fontainebleau. The only reason d'Artagnan and his friends were not with them was because they had just completed back-to-back missions in the north.

Having been given lighter duties, the four of them had just finished for the day and were going to head out to a tavern when a courier had arrived seeking him. The messenger gave him a small packet wrapped in a piece of old sailcloth, tied together with some twine. The man, who looked to be only a year or two younger than him, refused the money he tried to give in return, saying that he had already been paid.

Not wanting to hold his friends up, he told them he would catch up with them soon. He could see that they were curious about the package, but he had the feeling he needed to open it alone.

He went to sit at the table he and his friends usually occupied, and lit a few candles to augment the light from the torches being set alight around the garrison's courtyard. Unsheathing his main gauche, he carefully cut away the intricately tied pieces of twine. Returning his dagger to its rightful place, he removed the pieces and unfolded the sailcloth.

Inside was what looked to be a large, oddly-shaped letter, sealed with wax stamped with the seal of the harbor master of Dieppe. D'Artagnan only recognized the symbol because he had recently been to Dieppe on behalf of the King during one of the two missions from which he had lately returned. In the course of their duties, both he and Porthos had needed to get some information from Dieppe's harbor master and had observed the symbol. Why the oily-haired man was sending him a letter now, after the matter had been successfully concluded, was completely beyond him. Briefly noting that the letter was addressed to the "Musketeer d'Artagnan," he broke the seal.

When he began unfolding the large piece of paper, he saw lines upon it which made him think it was a page from a large ledger book. Inside, d'Artagnan was confronted with a smaller piece of paper on top of what looked to be another sealed document.

Reading the short note, it explained that when he'd introduced himself as d'Artagnan of the Musketeers, the harbor master had thought he had recognized the surname. It had taken the man a couple of days, but he finally remembered how he knew the name – a letter that had been left in his care. By the time he had found the letter in question, it was too late to get the enclosed to him. Because d'Artagnan shared the same surname as the recipient, as well as the coloring of people from Gascony, Dieppe's harbor master decided to send the letter along to him in hopes that he would be so obliging as to forward it on to the appropriate family.

Those words had him immediately uncovering the letter, and when he saw who it was supposed to be directed to, he nearly dropped it.

 _d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony_

It was sealed with wax not normally used for sealing documents. The paper was slightly browned, almost brittle, and somewhat stained on the outside. But what was truly curious about the document was that it was more generally addressed to "d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony." Though d'Artagnan was not an uncommon surname in France, he and his family had been the only ones in Lupiac to hold it. His father, as second son, had received only a small inheritance with which to make his way in the world, and the life that he had made for himself had been in Lupiac.

But now that life was gone. His uncle was also gone now, and he'd never met nor heard from his cousin or aunt. He was also aware that some distant cousins on his mother's side existed, but he had no idea who they were. Now that his family was gone to Heaven, there was no more d'Artagnans left in Lupiac. Just how long had the harbor master been holding on to this letter? From the condition of the paper, it had to be quite a while. If that was the case, then it was most likely for his father, since he had never corresponded with anyone outside the village.

Suddenly, he felt apprehensive about opening correspondence that might be meant for his father. However, there was only one way to find out for certain who the actual, intended recipient was.

With careful movements, he broke the seal, which immediately crumbled as a result. He tipped the letter towards him and let the pieces fall to the table before carefully unfolding what turned out to be two pieces of paper, wincing as one of the pages ripped slightly.

 _Pair, Mair, Alexandre, Marie-Cessette, Claude, e pichon Carlet ~_

He stopped breathing at the names he had just read on the paper. There was only one person who could've written… In his haste to confirm his suspicion, he nearly put another rip in the second sheet of paper.

 _Ton hilh e frair,_

 _Alexandre d'Artagnan_

It was a letter from his brother.

The brother that he thought he would never hear from again. The brother that he had long ago thought dead.

He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the idea that he was holding in his hands words that his beloved older brother had written…

He went back to the first page; the letter was dated a little more than three years ago.

Three years. His brother had been alive three years ago. God only knew if that still held true.

D'Artagnan remembered how tense the relationship between his father and oldest brother had become in the months before Alexandre had left Lupiac for good. His brother had never enjoyed farming, and had merely gone through the motions in order to help his father keep their farm afloat in spite of the threat of steadily increasing taxes. In d'Artagnan's eyes, it had always been his other brother, Claude, who had had the affinity and love for the land, but his father had expected his oldest son to follow directly in his footsteps.

The main problem was that Alexandre had had no desire to be a farmer, which greatly disappointed their father. As time passed, they had begun to argue more and more about it, though they had tried to hide their disagreements from the rest of the family.

Then one day, a herald came to Lupiac with a pronouncement from the King. The King was seeking people willing to go to the Americas and be a part of a growing colony that had already been established there. Once Alexandre had heard the proclamation, he could think of nothing else. It was something he wanted – _needed_ – to do. It was a way to step out of the long shadow cast by his father's skills and reputation.

His father, knowing the risks and the rate of failure of such colonies, forbid his son to go on the journey. There were too many things that could go wrong, which would endanger his life. The dangers of crossing the vast ocean of the Atlantic, disease, unpredictable weather, possible starvation, and the often poor relations with the native peoples were only some of the many hazards Alexandre would encounter on such a journey. With the hindsight of distance and maturity, d'Artagnan knew that his father had simply been afraid of never hearing from his oldest son again or losing him to death – or both.

At the time, all little Carlet had known was that his brother and best playmate was going away and leaving him behind. His brother had explained to him about the opportunities for adventure and the honor of being amongst the first Frenchmen living in the Americas. It was his chance to make his own way through life and escape comparisons to his father. Back then, he didn't understand the desire to leave home in order to seek adventure, but now he thought he did. For hadn't he basically done the same by becoming a Musketeer?

D'Artagnan still clearly remembered the day Alexandre left Lupiac. His mother had been crying in his father's arms, while his father had remained completely stoic, only to lift his hand in farewell at the very last moment. Alexandre and his father had loudly fought over the decision to leave, but in the end his father had given his permission. The man had loved his oldest child too much to part on bad terms should the worst happen.

Carlet had tried to run away from home and catch up to Alexandre, but his father had found him before he got too far from the farm. Nearly inconsolable, he had barely eaten and hardly slept for days after his oldest brother had left. Marie and Claude had tried to be there for him, as did his parents, but nothing had helped. His brother was gone – perhaps forever.

He had lost the sibling who had understood him best. Despite their great age difference, his brother had always made time for him, teaching him many things, including how to ride a horse. Alexandre had also laid the foundation for his father to eventually begin teaching him the sword.

As the years had gone by, the memory of his beloved brother had faded, as had his hope of ever seeing him again. His affection for Alexandre had never diminished and he still missed his brother – and all of his family – something fierce. Yet, to his shame, he never thought about Alexandre or the rest of his family unless something came up which strongly reminded him of them. With Athos, Porthos, and Aramis as his brothers, he found that he thought of his siblings, especially Alexandre, a bit more now than in years past.

Now that his family was gone, those three men were the only family he had left in this world. In fact, now that his family's farm had been burned to the ground and was gone, the only thing left of his family was the tombstone which marked their graves in the church graveyard. One stone had been all his family could afford, and one by one the names of his family had been engraved upon it. His sister and other brother had perished when an illness he had just barely survived had passed through Lupiac, and his mother had died while trying to birth a late-in-life baby that ended up never being born.

After his father had died, he had toyed with the idea of adding Alexandre's name to the stone, but couldn't bring himself to do it at the time. He thought if he left the name off the stone for a little while longer, then he could pretend that he wasn't truly alone – the last of his family.

Now it seemed that he had been wrong about never hearing from his brother again and right to not add the name to the family grave marker. He was holding proof in his hands that his beloved brother had made it across the ocean and was living somewhere in New France – or had been three years ago. He shook his head a little to rid himself of the negative thought.

He looked back down at the paper in his hands and read the address again, running his fingers over the names of his family. Of those listed, he was the only one still alive, and his brother had no idea of it being anything different. He could barely stand the thought and he had already had more than two years to come to terms with the idea of his father's passing, let alone the decade for the rest of his family.

D'Artagnan could no longer put off reading his brother's letter, could no longer avoid the idea that he would soon run out of new words from his brother's hand. He had to know what had become of Alexandre.

At first, he stumbled over the words. The entire letter and not just the address were in Gascon, a language he had barely spoken for more than two years. French had become his primary language since he had decided to stay in Paris. The longer he was away from Gascony, the more even his inner thoughts were in French and not Gascon. There were other Musketeers from the same part of the country, but other than basic greetings to them, he never used his first language. He wondered if his brother had anyone to speak the language with.

There was only one way to find out.

Continuing to read, his mind easily started translating the words into French:

 _It has been too long a time since we last saw each other, and I fear that you have despaired of my fate, thinking me dead all of these years. I pray this letter settles your fears._

 _Be assured that I am well and thriving in this new world. I have settled in Canada in Tadoussac, which is a trading post and seaport along a river named Saguenay. Since I arrived, this is the first time I could afford the paper and ink with which to write. You can imagine how rare a commodity paper is out here in the wilderness._

 _I will not waste the space I have left trying to convince you that life here has been anything other than difficult, but I have survived many challenges and have faith that I will continue to do so. By God's grace and mercy, I now have a small cabin built, and have become a proficient fur trapper, trading them for supplies._

 _I know that you did not want this life for me, Pair, but I feel as if this is where I belong. This land is so beautiful beyond words, and I have made some good friends, even amongst the native peoples._

 _Pair – I…_

When a teardrop fell on the page he was reading, he had to stop for a moment to regain his composure. After a few deep breaths, he went back to reading the letter, but stopped again once he realized that there were a few lines specifically addressed to each one of his family members. His eyes began tearing up once more at the thought that they would never be able to read them.

For a few moments, d'Artagnan considered reading the personalized messages, but decided not to because the words were not meant for him. Maybe someday he would, but not right now.

He scanned the words until he came to the section meant just for him – _Pichon Carlet_.

 _Pichon Carlet – my apologies, but I could not resist calling you that even though you are now grown and would probably hate it. To me though, you will always be that little boy who followed me around the farm. I often wonder how much you have grown and what kind of man you are, and if you ever got Pair to teach you the sword. We are more alike than you know, and though Pair will not like it, I believe that you are destined to be more than a simple farmer. Follow your dreams._

 _With my remaining space, I will say that I love and miss you all terribly much. I think about you daily and pray that you are all well and content in life. I am sending this letter on a ship bound for Dieppe with instructions for it to be forwarded along to you. I pray that it someday makes it into your hands._

 _God bless and keep you all._

 _Your son and brother,_

 _Alexandre d'Artagnan._

When he finishes reading, he looks up from his letter and can feel tears spilling from his eyes, which then trail down his face and drip off his chin. To his utter amazement, Athos is sitting beside him on the bench. He had not even noticed or heard the man approach, though he supposed a bomb could've gone off next to him and he wouldn't have noted it.

Athos was staring straight ahead, but when d'Artagnan turned to look at the older man, his brother met his eyes. After a moment, something changed in Athos's expression before the older man shifted to put an arm around his shoulders. Athos neither asks nor says anything, but to d'Artagnan, his presence means everything, and he can feel himself calm down even as he leans in towards the silent comfort of his brother.

Athos has not replaced Alexandre or his other siblings, and neither have Porthos or Aramis. Instead, they have become another part of his family, standing in when and where his birth family was no longer able. He hopes his brother has found the same thing in New France.

D'Artagnan decides then and there to write his brother a reply. The next time he knows of a mission to a port city with a ship leaving for the Americas, he will bring the letter with him and entrust it to the captain of the ship. He will pray for the ship's safe passage and hope that his letter somehow reaches his brother.

Then, he will wait and hope that someday he might hear from his brother again.

It's the least he can do for his family.

ooooooo

 _The end._

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 **Story Notes** :

The names I chose for d'Artagnan's siblings were based on naming patterns of the day using Alexandre Dumas' family tree as the source.

I used the "Dictionnaire Français Occitan (Gascon Toulousain): dictionnaire de la langue parlée en Nord Comminges, Fezensaguet, Lomagne, Muretain, Savès & Pays Toulousain" (2004) written by Nicolau Rei Bèthvéder to help me translate certain words into Gascon. English is my primary language and my French is a bit rusty, but if I read the section on suffixes correctly, the diminutive of Charles (Carles in Occitan) is Carlet. If I'm in error, please feel free to let me know – thank you.

Translations:

\- " _Pair, Mair, Alexandre, Marie-Cessette, Claude, e pichon Carlet"_ = Father, Mother… and little Charlie.

\- " _Ton hilh e frair"_ = Your son and brother

Tadoussac, according to Wikipedia, is "a village in Quebec, Canada, at the confluence of the Saguenay and Saint Lawrence rivers. … [It] was France's first trading post on the mainland of New France" and was founded in 1600. The rest of my description about life there was fancy on my part; I apologize for any gross inaccuracies.

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 **A/N:** Written for the _Fête des Mousquetaires_ challenge: Dumas quote "All human wisdom is contained in these words: Wait and hope!" For rules, judging, etc., please go to the forum page on this site for The Musketeers.

Many thanks to celticgal1041 for all her help; remaining mistakes are my fault.

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_


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